The driver's path led him to a tall building made of pale stone, its door carved with strange symbols. It looked old, but untouched by time. A faint breeze brushed past him as he stepped inside.
It was a library.
Shelves rose up on all sides, packed with scrolls, books, and tablets. Dust floated in the air like slow snow. The silence inside felt heavier than outside. Words glowed softly on some of the covers, Luminis: The Lost Flame, Maps of the Deep Earth, The Voice of the Ancients.
Instead of taking a look he didn't touch any of them.
He backed away slowly, eyes scanning the walls. His hand went into his coat. From an inner pocket, he pulled out a small object, wrapped tightly in cloth. He held it close to his chest, lips pressed into a tight line.
The door behind him slammed shut.
He didn't flinch.
Time passed. How long, he didn't know. Hours, maybe more. Still, he refused to approach a single scroll. Didn't open a single book.
And then, like something had lost its patience, the library began to burn.
One by one, the shelves caught fire, slow at first, then all at once. Flames crept along the walls, licking at pages, curling the corners of ancient secrets. The air filled with smoke and the smell of burning parchment.
The driver remained unmoved.
Even as the ceiling creaked and walls shifted, he stood rooted to the spot. His grip on the wrapped object didn't loosen. Though his face was calm, the subtle tremble in his legs betrayed him.
He took quiet, measured breaths to steady himself.
The flames slowly died down.
There were no more books. No more scrolls. Just ash and soot where knowledge once stood. The building around him groaned. Cracks split across the walls. The pale stone faded to grey, and pieces began to fall. The library was changing, decaying, right before his eyes.
Then a sound broke the silence.
A soft, crackling noise.
He turned toward it, eyes narrowing.
Then, a laugh. Behind him.
Without hesitation, he spun and threw a hidden dagger. It flew fast, into empty air. Nothing was there.
Then a shadow moved. A shape stepped forward.
The driver threw the cloth-wrapped object with all his strength, then dove behind the nearest wall. A second later, an explosion shook the floor. Light burst, dust flew, and the weakened ceiling began to fall.
The driver ran.
He sprinted for a window and hurled himself through it. Glass shattered around him as he tumbled outside. Behind him, the library groaned one final time and collapsed in a cloud of smoke and ash.
He lay on the grass, breathing hard. His side throbbed. His palms were scraped raw. But he was glad to be alive.
He looked back one last time. Just rubble now.
"That tomb relic, worked well" he muttered.
He turned to go, but stopped.
Footsteps.
Light, almost playful. He froze.
Then he saw it.
The same figure the others had seen. Blackened skin like burnt wax. But this time, its face was charred, the features melted and stretched, as if someone had tried to erase it and failed halfway.
It laughed again.
That sound. Low, broken, full of teeth.
The driver felt the chill crawl up his spine. He took a step back, then another.
The figure didn't stop.
It kept walking, slowly like it had all the time in the world.